Mum and Dad had somehow managed to find an optician who could not only repair my glasses, but do so overnight. This meant that I just had to spend an evening wandering around like a blind thing. This wasn’t too traumatic as my vision wasn’t actually that bad in those days – somewhere around -2.5 if I remember correctly – and, of course, I was used to playing football and other games with no glasses on, as if I wasn’t they wouldn’t have been broken in the first place. It does explain why this entry is so short, though.

The strikethrough isn’t a case of me filling in the diary retrospectively, but simply trying to add something to another day and getting it in the wrong place.